


Life is but a bridge which fills this chasm

by Ruta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season Finale, Speculation, Spoilers, The Pack Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruta/pseuds/Ruta
Summary: "I don't know what I think because I don't understand you."The admission seems to irritate and exhaust him at the same time. It sounds like an accusation against her. It hurts, but Sansa is used to far worse. To being distrusted, to being underestimated and mocked. This doesn't make it less bitter, especially if it comes from Jon."I don't understand what you want. I don't understand what you think."(Set after Jaime "trial" and jon/tyrion talk I wrote. My headcanon. Sansa and Arya already know the truth about Jon. It doesn't change a thing between them and at the same time it does.)





	Life is but a bridge which fills this chasm

It's the first time they are alone since the first night. Not that it's a surprise. Both have been busy with the growing tasks related to the upcoming war. If before the cohabitation between their allies already seemed complicated and required great diplomacy, with the arrival of Jaime Lannister at any time could lead to disaster.  
  
Last time, she asked him a very specific question. He didn't answer, but isn't silence itself a sort of answer? A silent assent?  
  
Her fingers shake and Sansa close them in a fist. There is something in his eyes when he looks at her. She used to think that she'd see Father there, but she never found anyone else outside Jon. (Always Jon. Only Jon). There is a tension between them that cannot be explained. It's not unpleasant in and of itself, just different from anything she has ever felt. A quiver in the limbs as if she wanted to run away, a weight in the chest like the one after a long run, the desire to touch, to placate this...  
  
"Where is Ghost?"  
  
Sansa blinks. "Probably in the crypts or in the godswood." She doesn't tell him that it is rare to see him inside the castle these days. It's as if the presence of the new guests annoys him. Or maybe it's the dragons. She doesn't say anything, but she sees Jon nod, as if he had come to the same conclusion. _What do you know? What are you thinking about?_  
  
Jon has his hands resting on the stone mantel. He gives her his back and Sansa watches the curve of his spine, troubled.  
  
When he turns, she looks away quickly. The weight of Jon's eyes is familiar. His silence is not. Therefore when he speaks, she doesn't know what to feel, whether relief or rather annoyance.  
  
"Are you satisfied?" He asks.  
  
She frowns. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Cersei," he replies with a smile that is not quite a smile, not really. The mere sight causes something to contract painfully inside her. It makes her want to cry and scream. "You were right. We should never have trusted her. You were right," he says again, more forcefully. "Are you satisfied?"  
  
Nobody makes him angry like you, Arya told her a couple of days ago. You make him furious.  
  
It's the same for her. Every time, Jon surprises her and most of the time not in a positive way. He confuse her, pulls the ground out from under her feet, shakes every painfully obtained certainty.  
  
She clenches the jaw. "Is this what you think of me? That I am so petty as to take pleasure in something like that?"  
  
When she meets Jon's eyes, she finds the same confusion and frustration reflected there. Not for the first time with him, she is overwhelmed by her own emotions. Vulnerable. Exposed.  
  
"I don't know what I think because I don't understand you." The admission seems to irritate and exhaust him at the same time. It sounds like an accusation against her. It hurts, but Sansa is used to far worse. To being distrusted, to being underestimated and mocked. This doesn't make it less bitter, especially if it comes from Jon. "I don't understand what you want. I don't understand what you think."  
  
He wants trust, but doesn't know that it should be mutual?  
  
Sansa is about to argue harshly, but Jon's hunched shoulders and his stance hold her back. It's as if he expects the conflict, as if he _wants_ it.  
  
Instead she sighs. "What I want is exactly what you want. For our family to survive. To protect our home." She sees how his eyes widen. "What I think howewer... there was no other way? To secure her help," she clarifies. "You just had to give up the crown."  
  
He doesn't respond immediately and when he does it's with a non-response. "It should never have been mine," he says finally, weary as if every word had been torn away by force.  
  
She knows. Of course she knows. It had to be-  
  
"It had to be Robb's," she hears.  
  
Sansa inhales deeply. She might cry and so she closes her eyes, breathing and counting her heartbeats. The ghosts of loved and lost people lie between them, together with the shadows projected by the fire against the walls.  
  
She would like to console him, but there are no words to assuage the grief that runs through her veins like poison, like wildfire.  
  
They never really talked about Robb. Only once she mentioned him, in a moment of anger, while trying to convince him to be more cautious and learn from past mistakes. And now, now it seems she has a chasm instead of a heart.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jon says softly. He is looking at her regretful, angry with himself. There are forbidden arguments that both prefer not to touch. The empty spaces in their hearts.  
  
Sansa shakes her head slowly. It doesn't matter. "For food supplies," she says mildly and picks up the maps in front of her. It costs all her energy to regain control over her mind and body. "Maybe there is a solution."  
  
Jon would clearly like to add something, but in the end he gives up. He runs his hand through his hair and approaches her. Instead of occupying the chair in front of her, he stands beside her and reaches out. His body is close enough that she can feel the heat emanating, his breath against one side of her face.  
  
"With the stocks in our possession we can resist, but for how much? Less than a year, according to the calculations. Tyrion said that Daenerys has a fleet."  
  
Jon is so close that the angry flash in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed. It's only a moment before that fleeting spark is replaced by appreciation. Jon studies the route plotted on the maps and nods with approval. "Do you already have a man in mind to send?"  
  
"I have two." She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "Ser Davos and Varys." She waits for a reaction or a comment and when both don't arrive, she forces herself to ask him, "Do you approve?"  
  
The request seems to surprise him. "You don't need my permission. You're the Lady of Winterfell." He gently pulls the map from her hands to watch it more carefully against the light of the candle. "For what it's worth, I approve."  
  
It should end there. Sansa got what she wanted. Her choice wasn't casual. Varys, the master of whispers, who sees and knows everything. His presence in Winterfell worries her more than any dragon could ever do. There are secrets that must remain such, upon which lives depend. "It means something to me," she says softly.  
  
The bad blood and the last traces of hostility between them seem finally dispelled.  
  
"Why do you have to be so irritating?" Jon asks, but there is no real bite in his voice. A corner of his mouth is arched in a hint of smile, a genuine one.  
  
"I grew up among irritating people." She smiles in turn, maintaining eye contact. "You're lucky I'm not _that_ irritating."  
  
He chuckles, always without averting his eyes and then his expression radically changes. It gets intense and full of light and warmth and -  
  
Arya enters without knocking and stops after just a few steps, looking at them with an arched eyebrow. "Did I interrupt something?"  
  
Jon flinches as if burned. Sansa stiffens. She takes the map he hands her and rolls it up. "Do you agree?" She questions without looking at him.  
  
Jon clears his throat. "Of course."  
  
Arya keeps looking at them like a hawk and her silence irritates her more than would yellings and recriminations.  
  
When Jon leaves, Arya is still staring at her with that inquisitive look that reveals nothing.  
  
"Why are you looking at me like that?"  
  
Arya shrugs. "It's just unusual to see you two get along so well."  
  
_Nobody makes him angry like you_.  
  
"You've smiled more since Jon came back," she adds without any connection.  
  
"What's the point, Arya?" She rolls her eyes. "If you have a question, say it."  
  
"It wasn't going to be," she replies. "It was a simple statement. Are you happy that he came back?"  
  
"Why shouldn't I be? He is our family."  
  
"Even thougt-"  
  
"We had decided not to talk about it," she hisses, hushing her.  
  
"So is what we're going to do? Pretend not to know? That this doesn't change everything?"  
  
"Nothing changes between us. You heard what Jon said. Titles don't matter. We need to focus on pressing issues, what needs to be done in order to survive."  
  
Arya doesn't seem convinced yet. "You really don't care?"  
  
"What would you like me to say? Of course I care, but that's why it doesn't have to change anything. Jon remains Jon. He's a Stark. He's part of our family and we protect our family."  
  
It's not the first time they talk about this. Arya should know, understand why it's so important. At least until she gets rid of Varys, of the danger he represents. Her face is flushed and she frowns at the wolfish expression in Arya's eyes. "Why are you smiling? Are you making fun of me?"  
  
"Just a little."  
  
Because of course Arya knows that she cares. _Of course_. Maybe Varys isn't the dangerous one after all.


End file.
